


Ridiculously Glamorous

by Liliriu



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliriu/pseuds/Liliriu
Summary: No plot, just Aziraphale and Crowley hooking up.Me pretending that the T.V show never happened. Not because I don't like it (I really do), but because I see it as basically fan fiction by itself, and I wanted to do my own.Explicit sex, but not much detail.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 7





	Ridiculously Glamorous

The waiter was really, _really_ cute. Fairly shapely body and a rather adorable face; soft features with smooth skin and huge, sky blue eyes. Just like an angel. Crowley wondered if this angel, as well, was in reality a little slut like the angel sat in front of him. Not that he knew from personal experience, but it was written all over his face: “eats at least three different cocks before lunch.”

A mental image: Aziraphale sat on a throne of clouds, wearing nothing but pale golden silk. Three men in a line, waiting to get their cocks sucked, and all of them with Crowley’s face. He might even add the waiter into the mix; he would wear silver silk and suck Aziraphale’s own… Did angels even have cocks? Crowley could not recall how it did work, but he was sure that it could be worked around… _How did he come up with this shit_ , anyway? By being a _fucking genius_ , that is how.

The cute-angel-maybe-slut-waiter was already taking their order and turning back, displaying a round, grabbable ass.

“Angel,” whispered Crowley with his husky voice.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Whatd’ya think of that ass?”

His angel raised one slim eyebrow.

“I said…”

“I heard you…” stopped him Aziraphale…

His hair was straight and shoulder long, blond going grey. His slightly plump body was covered by a white fur coat.[1] His eyes were not sky blue like the waiter’s, but of a brighter tone, like the diamonds embedded in his earlobes. His lips were thick and red, just perfect for… for the _matter_ in question. Crowley did not know if he looked glamorously ridiculous, or ridiculously glamorous…

“But how should I know, I am not a homosexual,” went on the angel, with the most homosexual-ish of tones.

That silenced Crowley for, like, at least five minutes.

He was not one to remain silenced for much longer than that.

***

Dinner was eaten and Aziraphale was smiling his satisfied, chubby smile, with those chubby red, red lips. Nothing to distract him now – _now or never_.

“Angel…?”

“My dearest…?”

“I might need your aesthetic eye.” Idiot would never suspect; he was too proud of his so called “aesthetic eye.”

“I think that I have already told you, that I am not in the business of judging young boys’ behinds?”

“Ah, no, it’s about my… ah… curtains. I am remodeling.”

“Right now.”

“…Yes?”

“I have to raise early tomorrow. I have… ah… ah… plans.”

“Plans.”

“…Yes?”

Crowley was getting tired of this game. “Please…?”

He smiled his most flirtatious smile. When the angel giggled, he knew that he had won.

***

“Those seem perfectly fine to me.”

“Come on… you’re losing your touch.”

“But they do, my darling. Very pretty indeed.”

“O.K! Sorry I dragged you here for nothing then. Bye!”

Aziraphale stared at him oddly, “if I did not know you better…”

“I am not plotting anything!”

“Excellent, I shall be leaving then…” How did an angel manage such wicked smile?

“Wait…”

Aziraphale rose one fine eyebrow.

“I feel… bad. I dragged you here for nothing. Let me treat you with a drink, at least.”

And thus Crowley had won, yet again.

***

The angel was drinking as if he had not had an entire bottle of wine at dinner.

“So fucking easy…” thought Crowley, “why haven’t I thought about this before? Because I’m a _fucking idiot_ that is why…”

He initialized a movement to hit his own forehead, and because he was a fucking idiot, his hand instead ended up hitting Aziraphale’s glass. White angel covered by red wine. It looked quite nice, he had to admit.

Aziraphale seemed less happy, as he emitted a rather pissed off sound, and started to move his fingers to miracle the mess away.

“Don’t…!”

Aziraphale looked at him oddly (why keep doing that, nothing odd about Crowley among all people, right?)

“Are you quite all right, honey?” he asked, sounding worried all of sudden, “excuse me for saying that, but you do not seem to be at your best today.”

“Is that… eh… I… eh… curtains…!”

“ _What?!_ ”

“The red over the white, it will look good for the curtains!”

“ _Don’t-give me-that_.”

Crowley sighed and stared at the ground. “You look good,” he said at least.

“Now, that’s sweet… But you do understand that I cannot walk over the street with wine all over me, right?”

Slowly, Crowley raised his head, and looked back at the angel. His cheeks were covered with blush, and he was smiling a little smile.

“Sure,” said the demon, “let me help with it.”

Yet he did not miracle the wine away, but drew closer and wiped it by hand. The method did not prove itself as very effective at cleaning Aziraphale, but it was very effective at getting Crowley kissed by thick, red lips.

***

Finally at bed, with the angel’s juicy plump body to do as he pleased. All this flesh, to grab and suck and lick and scratch and caress and bite, to appease his demonic lust.

He rode him while pulling the soft hair, a mixture of silver and gold. And Aziraphale rode him (indeed, it could be worked around), and they did it inside the sink, and under the rug, and hanging from the fan,[2] which collapsed at the exact moment in which Aziraphale came inside Crowley’s tanned muscled ass, causing the lovers to softly land on a pile of feathery pillows, miracled just in time.

Crowley turned to his still gasping angel, and caressed a silver and gold lock of hair, wrapping with it a bronze finger, decorated with a yellow opal ring.

“Angel…” he whispered, now confidently, as he had earned back his pride.

“Yes, my dear…?”

“We should bring the waiter next time…” and then quickly added, “ _if he consents_ and all.”

Aziraphale gave him a mischievous smile, “I _saw_ how he was looking at you, my sweetheart, I do think he will.”

It was so good to be alive, for this world just 

[1] Sure, faux fur. But bear in mind that even in the opposite case, the slain animals would had been made of ink.

[2] This line is ~~plagiarized~~ inspired by “Para Elisabeth” by Les Luthiers, if you really must know. Originally it was “ _on_ the rug,” so I like to think that I improved it.


End file.
